Chapter Text
1913, 7 years old.
In the heart of the city, beneath the soft glow of street lamps, the rain drummed a steady rhythm against gravel. Each droplet wove a tapestry of melancholy, blurring the edges of a world too busy to notice the struggles unfolding beneath the feeble light. Amidst the relentless patter, a flicker of movement caught the eye. You, small and huddled close to a shop window under a splintered wooden overhang, attempting to anchor yourself against the gusts that swept through the alley.
You were no stranger to the cold embrace of the streets. In the past couple months, you had learned to navigate life as an orphan, moving through the shadows and avoiding the pitfalls that came with solitude. Though tonight, your thin jacket offered little more than a whisper of warmth. Pulling it tighter around your body, you curled into yourself as the rain fell like an unrelenting tide.
Shivering in your makeshift shelter, a luxurious black car glided silently to a stop just a few feet away, its engine purring to a gentle halt. You duck back into the shadows, retreating into your invisibility. The door swung open with a soft whoosh, and a couple stepped out, illuminated by the soft golden light spilling from nearby street lamps. They were drenched when they emerged, forgetting an umbrella in their haste, eyes scanning the rainy streets.
"I swear I saw a little girl, Oscar." the woman asked, her voice tinged with concern. The man shook his head, shaking droplets from his fur. But then his gaze fell upon you, and he stepped forward. "Florence, there’s someone." he said, his voice strong yet gentle as he moved toward you, huddled away from the world.
Your heart raced as you silently observed the approaching figures. From their elegant clothes and the polished sheen of their shoes, you could surmise that they belonged to a world far removed from your own. The woman knelt down to your level, her expression softening like the clouds breaking to reveal the sun. "Hey there, sweetheart," she said softly, her amber eyes warm and inviting. “Are you alright?” The pity in her eyes is not condescending, they’re filled with an empathy and compassion you aren’t quite used to. "You look cold. Come here, darling."
And just like that, you cross the threshold from shadows into light. You can feel the warmth radiating from her and her husband as they offer solace. The subtitle of your existence shifts in an instant, the world you once knew blurring against the mosaic of possibility before you.
“What’s your name, dear?” When you don't answer, her eyes land across the street beneath the awning of a flower shop, where a tiny bird sat sheltering from the downpour. A dove, its feathers damp and ruffled. It cooed softly, and when she speaks next, it’s with a newfound glimmer in her eyes. “That’s alright, why don’t we give you a nickname?”
_________
1927, present day.
The aroma of freshly baked bread and cinnamon wafted through the air, a comforting counterpoint to the low murmur of conversation that filled the Little Daisy Cafe. The sun streamed through the lace curtains, casting dappled shadows on the checkered tablecloths. It was a picture of quaint charm, a refuge for the weary and the innocent. But beneath its dainty veneer, a darker, more exhilarating world beckoned, and it was you and Rocky who had been ready to answer its call. Ever since Atlas, the gruff but kind owner of the speakeasy, had passed, things had changed. The underground had become a different beast, a more dangerous one. You, a simple bartender who once served whiskey and gossip in equal measure, were now thrust into a world of shadowy deals and whispered warnings after Viktor’s incapacitation.
You glanced at the faded photograph of Atlas hanging above the fireplace. His eyes, the color of gold, seemed to watch you with an expression of weary understanding. The sudden passing had left a gaping void in your lives, leaving the burden of keeping the speakeasy alive on the shoulders of Mitzi May, who was staring at the paper with a saturnine face. She was sitting at a corner table along with you and Ivy chatting away, a trio of women as different as the flowers in a wild garden.
As you lean your head in your hands, minding the couple of patrons drifting in and out, you spot him through the shadowy entrance: Rocky. His eccentric demeanor is always a beacon in the beleaguered dark, and you can’t help but smile as he ducks inside. He emerges a moment later, dirty, disheveled, but unmistakably alive. His wild hair, a storm unto itself, dances in tandem with the beat of the gentle music filling the cafe. You instinctively head over to the door to greet him, your eyes widening once you get a look at his full state.
“Hey, you!” he exclaims, his voice beautifully chaotic, like a siren call from across a smoky abyss. As he strides towards you, brandishing a ridiculous grin, the breath of relief escapes your lips. “You won’t believe the logistics involved in transporting—”
You cut him off, laughter bubbling up at his unpredictable excitement. “You’re filthy!” You glide a finger across his cheek, smudging a streak of brown dirt. “Did the rum run back at you?”
“Worse,” Rocky quips, wearing a wide grin. “Those railroad tracks are no joke, lemme tell ya. Almost got a full-blown locomotive bath. But I'm here! Back from the dead!” You laugh, a genuine, happy sound. You can't help it. You've seen him come back from worse.
But before he can finish divulging the scandalous tale, Ivy ambles over, one hip cocked and a brow raised. “If it isn’t the rumrunner extraordinaire.” she adds playfully, looking over the dirt covering him head to toe.
“Oh, Ivy, don’t flatter him,” you shoot back, feigning indignation. “He nearly got us caught last week during that whiskey run.” Her laughter rings out, a joyous melody
“Caught? Last week? I was hailed as a hero for eluding the law!” Rocky shoots back, puffing out his chest dramatically. “Heroes, my dear Ivy, aren’t just in storybooks. We live!” He gives a theatrical spin, nearly stumbling over his own feet, but you catch him before he can fall with an embarrassed laugh.
Not far behind, Mitzi approaches with an easy confidence, exuding an elegance that makes the air shimmer. He straightens up immediately. “Miss M! It’s a lovely day out there…For an extraordinarily long walk…”
“Where have you been? That was supposed to be a quick rendezvous.” Her melodic voice flows naturally, but there’s a spark of exasperation behind her gaze.
“I’m sorry Miss M. Some of the locals insisted on seeing me reenact ‘The Perils of Pauline.’”
Mitzi takes a seat at the counter with a sigh. “Oh well, knowing Kehoe, that freight has an unusually high content of embalming fluid anyway.”
“No no! You misunderstand! Despite appearances today has been a uh, unequivocal success. I just…need to find the car.” Rocky looked away guiltily as he trailed off, even with his trademark grin never leaving his face.
Mitzi looked at him with heavy eyes, a hint of concern edging into her tone. “Oh honey, you lost the car? It’s all we have left besides that old truck. I had to sell the rest.”
“Don’t worry. If I can just borrow a certain surly slovak for a bit, I’ll get it right back. There’ll be plenty of embalming fluid to go around tomorrow night!” He said quickly, trying to soothe her worries.
“Check in the garage. Ivy, you go along too. Viktor will be less likely to throttle him in your presence.” She turns on the stool to look back over the newspaper, and gestures for you to sit with her as they turn and leave, both giving you a little wave goodbye.
"Are you ready for tomorrow?” Mitzi asked, her voice a melodic whisper, her emerald eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and worry as she looked up at you.
You straightened, your fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on the table. "Ready as I'll ever be, Miss M. Me and Rocky won’t disappoint you." you said, giving her a strained smile. The truth was, you weren’t ever as confident as Rocky seemed to be.
"Be careful honey," Mitzi said, her tone cautious. "We can't afford anymore losses right now. And make sure to keep Rocky in order."
You nodded, the weight of responsibility settling on your shoulders. You knew the risks, knew the dangers that lurked in the shadows, but the thrill of the chase, the adrenaline rush of defying the law, kept you going.
“Don't worry, Mitzi,” you said, trying to sound reassuring. “I’ve got him. We'll get the goods through.”
Mitzi’s lips twitched into a half-smile. “Thank you, sweetheart. The help from the two of you means the world.” she said, her voice softening. "Whoever took Atlas is out there, and competition trying to take over our routes," Mitzi continued. "We can’t let them."
You met her gaze, resolve hardening your features. "We won't."
The cafe buzzed around you, the chatter of the patrons fading into a distant hum as the weight of the task ahead settled upon you. Mitzi’s determination was infectious, her persistence to protect the legacy Atlas had left behind.
As you pushed back your chair, the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cafe, a stark reminder of the dangers that lay ahead. You took a deep breath, the sweet scent of cinnamon rolls a stark contrast to your reality, a bittersweet reminder of the life you were leading.
“See you downstairs,” you said, giving Mitzi a firm nod.
She gave you a knowing look, a mixture of apprehension and admiration in her eyes. “Be safe,” she whispered.